Crawley Blue Eyes
by Ocean of Ashes
Summary: 2x05. 'Oh Matthew, how can you not see? Heroes are not heroes for their fair faces and blue eyes, beautiful though yours are.' 'No, it is generally their esteemed titles and grand estates.'


_Author's Note: Because, just as Mary says, it is not the end of his life, just the beginning of a different one._

_I desperately wanted to get this out before tonight's episode, but alas, it turned into rather an epic and ran away from me somewhat. In any case, consider it completely without spoilers for 2x06, beyond the 'next week' segment at the end of the previous episode._

_Disclaimer: It all belongs to people far more talented than I am. I just make them dance to my tune for a while for my own amusement._

Lavinia was gone. Mary had ridden with her in the car as Branson drove her to the station to catch the train back to London, feeling genuine sympathy for her tears. After all, she was losing Matthew, and Mary knew the acute, heart shattering pain of that.

After Matthew had broken off their engagement, Lavinia had valiantly tried to persuade him that she didn't care and loved him anyway for a full week of tearful, anguished visits to the hospital. But Mary had sensed her enthusiasm for her task slowly waning as the days rolled on and she couldn't work out whether she was having second thoughts or whether the constant and cold rejection was grinding her down.

Either way, after breakfast the previous morning she had asked Mary whether she might be able to ask someone to book her a ticket back to London.

'Oh Lavinia, don't go. He just needs time to adapt to things, and once he has come to terms…'

Lavinia shook her head sadly. 'It's for the best Mary. You know it is. I love him, and I will always cherish the memories of the time I have had with him, but I am not strong enough to… I'm just not strong enough Mary. I can't be – ' She stuttered and stumbled disjointedly until the words petered out.

'He loves you very much.' But they both knew what she meant.

'He loves you more. And he needs you, he doesn't need me at all.' There, it was out. And strangely, Lavinia felt better for it. It felt like a weight that had been lifted off her, to finally admit what they had all known for years. Wheelchair or not, there was only one woman for Matthew, and it wasn't her.

'What will you do?' Mary asked.

'Go home to London. Try to learn how to live without him.'

'It won't be easy.' The voice of experience.

'I know that.'

'I mean it; I've never managed to, if I'm being truthful.'

Lavinia looked at her deeply, and Mary wasn't sure if it was bitterness or sadness or pity or regret or all of them and more besides. 'Well, maybe I will be better than you at something then.'

'I'm sorry, for everything.' Mary had said the following day in the car, and meant it. Right at that moment, there was no part of her that was glad to see Lavinia gone.

They were standing together on the platform, steam swirling around. There was no-one else to wave her off, not even Isobel, and that spoke volumes to Lavinia.

'Don't be Mary. Truly. I have felt all this time that I was stealing your life. I would say that I was giving it back to you, except it was never mine anyway. I hope you and Matthew will be happy together.'

'I think we are a very long way from that.'

'Not so far.'

'We'll see.'

* * *

><p>By the time Matthew was well enough to move from the hospital back to the Abbey, he was beginning, slowly, to make peace in his mind with the abrupt, devastating change to his life.<p>

The turning point, as far as Mary could tell, was William's funeral. Up until then, he had been withdrawn and taciturn, able to tolerate her and his mother sitting quietly by his bedside, but would not be drawn into conversation or hope. But on the morning of the funeral, Mary found him dressed once again in a smartly pressed set of regimentals, a black armband arranged straight and high around his right arm, and sitting in the much hated wheelchair.

'You're going?'

He had been non-committal the previous day when she had asked him.

'Yes. I woke up this morning and suddenly felt… like myself. Different, broken, but myself. William gave his life to save mine – what possible excuse or reason do I have to feel sorry for myself in light of that? I couldn't bear to dishonour his sacrifice in such a way.'

Mary's heart warmed and soared. This was the Matthew of old, beautiful, strong and noble. She had known he would be all right, given time. Already he looked a thousand times better than the grey, depressed shadow of himself who had vomited in pain and shock and grief.

He was looking at her reaction carefully. He had sensed something in her these last weeks. When he had gatecrashed the concert, what seemed like a whole lifetime ago, and seen the wave of emotion wash over her face as she realised he was safe he had known in an overt, no longer able to ignore it sort of a way that she still loved him. It wasn't something that had occurred to him before, and he had retreated to London and Lavinia with his feelings in utter disarray. He had been back to the Front and caught up in the most serious fighting he had seen before he had had a chance to think about what it all meant.

Then he was injured and home and for the first few days all he had really been able to comprehend that Mary was there. All the time. It was her soft, pale hands that sponged at his forehead with a damp cloth, and her soothing voice that read to him when he was still hovering on the edge of consciousness. But that was not all. She emptied his bedpan and helped Sybil change his bloodied dressings without once flinching or her expression of love and concern faltering for a second. And most importantly of all, she had the enormous courage to break the worst news he would ever hear to him. He would love her forever for that.

Mary was dressed, neatly, respectfully in black and he thought she looked thin and gaunt but even more tragically beautiful than ever.

'Lavinia caught the train all right,' she said.

He looked at her warningly.

'Don't pull that face at me Matthew Crawley,' she retorted sharply. 'She loves you very much and would come back in a moment if only you would ask her.'

'I don't want her to,' he replied. 'She deserves to be with someone who can offer her so much more than I can.'

She had been pushing the chair out into the hall, but she stopped and knelt in front of him, speaking earnestly. 'Matthew, you can still offer a girl everything she could ever want or dream of to make her happy and do not for a second think otherwise.'

'Mary…'

'I mean it Matthew.'

He looked into his lap at the way their fingers were entwined around each, as if they had always been that way. Her words had little impact on him, but the way she had been there for him – no pity, no horror, just honesty and love – did and for the first time, he was glad he hadn't died in the explosion.

'Do you Mary?' he asked.

'Absolutely.'

'Or do you mean I would make _you _happy?'

They were both shocked by his boldness, his words so far ahead of what he was ready to contemplate. But he didn't take them back.

She smiled gently at him, content for that to be enough for now. 'I think I probably mean that as well.'

She sat next to him at the funeral, wheeled him to the front of the church for him to give William's eulogy, and felt some of the disjointed parts of herself begin to put themselves back together.

Then when they returned to the house for the wake to find a burned, scarred prodigal with Crawley blue eyes all the goalposts changed again.

* * *

><p>Why he hadn't come back sooner wasn't clear. He had said he had been immature and rebellious against his fate, that he thought he wanted to make his own way in the world. He had boarded the Titanic Patrick Crawley, heir to the Earl of Grantham, and been fished out of the icy Atlantic a nameless, three quarters frozen survivor.<p>

He had lost his dinner jacket somewhere in the mêlée and when he was on the lifeboat someone had thrown a motheaten, charcoal grey woollen greatcoat around his shoulders. It was warm and dry and that was all he had comprehended until he scrambled aboard the Carpathia as the cold dawn had bled into the sky the next morning. The steward took one look at his appearance and pointed him in the direction of the third class passengers. It was the first time someone outside of his circle of family and friends had not called him sir and the prospect was just too tempting. John Hodges was born.

He had worked all over after that, the Californian goldfields and Newfoundland fishing boats. He had liked the great frontier ranch in Montana the best, days and days in the saddle with nothing but his horse and the cattle and the wide emptiness around him. He had been in New York working in a coffee house when he heard the news about the war. He felt that he couldn't shirk his duty as an Englishman so he returned to London and joined up.

Not unlike Matthew, right up until he had been injured, he had had a remarkably lucky war. Attacks and raids that had wiped out many of his company had left him unscathed and thanks to his bravery and commitment, he had gained both respect and promotions. Then one day his luck had come to an abrupt halt when the section of trench he was in had been shelled and some timber boarding had caught fire immediately beside him. As he felt the flames lick around his body and the roar of the fire and death in his ears, Downton, fresh and green on a spring morning, burst into his mind and he swore that if by some miracle he was to survive this, he would make his way home.

Mary was not sure what to make of him. At first, she wanted to believe he was an imposter, a pretender who had heard the story of the lost heir of Downton and thought trying his luck at reinventing himself as Patrick Crawley was a better plan for the future than finding whatever low grade job his body was still able to manage.

But they were Patrick's blue eyes looking back at her. Those scarred fingers were the same ones that had once closed around her own as he asked her to marry him.

She owed him an apology, at least.

He had shrugged. 'I didn't think you would marry me in the end. I knew you didn't love me, and I never thought you were as calculating and cold as you believed you were.'

How easy this was, how much easier than she deserved. 'It doesn't matter. I should never have treated you that way,' she insisted. 'I am ashamed now of how I behaved.'

'Then consider it both forgiven and forgotten.' They were strolling slowly in the evening sun around the grounds. She could sense he was tiring but instinctively steered him away from the bench under the cedar tree. To go there now, with Patrick, would be…

The silence between them was not uncomfortable, but Mary was still glad when he broke it. Her own thoughts were difficult companions these days.

'What is Matthew like? Your father is obviously fond of him.' Patrick was only being pleasant, interested, but Mary couldn't help a flare of anger bubbling up inside her at him. Between his injury and Lavinia and now this, Matthew had lost three futures all in the space of as many weeks and it was easy to blame Patrick.

'He is…' she began, but suddenly realised there were no words, none, to convey all the things she wanted to say.

Patrick was looking at her keenly, and she knew he understood. He patted her arm in a brotherly gesture.

'Not many people are getting second chances these days Cousin Mary. Don't waste yours.'

In the distance, shading her eyes against the setting sun, she saw Edith watching them, her face twisted in an old familiar bitterness that Mary had not seen in a while. Carefully, she disentangled her arm from Patrick's and nodded towards her sister.

'I could say the same to you, Cousin Patrick.'

And the faintest glimmerings of an idea began to form in her mind.

* * *

><p>Because of her engagement to Sir Richard, her father wasn't surprised when Mary found him in the library one morning to enquire about her dowry.<p>

'I must say Mary, I hope money isn't the only thing driving your relationship.'

'Of course not. But I wish to know what I would be bringing to the marriage.' It wasn't quite a lie, she justified to herself. Just not quite the truth either.

'It is in my power to settle thirty thousand pounds on you upon your wedding. A considerable sum, I hope you will agree, but rather a drop in the ocean to a man like Carlisle I would have thought.' Mary could detect the slightest hint of distaste in her father's expression.

'Yes,' she agreed, keeping her voice bland. 'Nevertheless, thank you Papa. I know it was coarse to ask, but I do like to know where I stand.'

He went on to ask her some general questions about when she thought a date might be set, but her mind was already elsewhere. Thirty thousand pounds. With a careful lifestyle and some good investments, it would be more than enough.

She did not have the confidence however, to go any further without trying to ascertain whether her idea would even be entertained by the most important in it.

She found Cousin Isobel at the hospital, checking through the notes of men they were getting ready to discharge to the house.

'Mary,' she exclaimed, 'is everything all right?' _With Matthew_, they both knew she meant. Mary had not been down to the hospital since Matthew had moved up to the house. In fact, she had barely been anywhere but at his side.

'Of yes, of course,' she replied, and Isobel immediately relaxed. 'I have left Matthew reading for a little while. I was wondering if you could spare me a moment of your time.'

Isobel had been deeply moved by Mary's dedication in nursing Matthew. From the moment she had returned from France to see her gently rubbing his back as he vomited into the bowl she was holding steadily in front of him, nothing but love and care had exuded from her every action. She had been there to support him through every second of the horror, shrinking from nothing. Only a girl wholeheartedly and absolutely in love would have been able to do it, of that she was sure. A mother could want nothing more for her son.

She carefully returned the notes to their folders and piled them neatly on the desk.

'You may have more than a moment, Mary my dear.' She indicated for her to take a seat.

'Thank you.' Mary perched on the edge of the chair with her hands in her lap, fidgeting uncertainly with the pearl button on the cuff of her blouse.

'What is it Mary? If it helps, you may ask me anything you wish.'

Mary nodded and took a deep breath, pulling herself together. If she couldn't ask Cousin Isobel this, then how on earth would she ever be able to ask Matthew… that. 'Now that Cousin Patrick is back and Matthew's prospects have altered accordingly, may I be so bold as to ask what you, that is, you and Matthew, are planning to do? Will you stay?'

Isobel narrowed her eyes for a moment, but knew Mary well enough by now to trust her motives in asking. She was a very long way removed from the proud, cold girl she had first judged her to be.

'I don't expect so. Matthew would like to go back to practising law. In fact –' She hesitated, wondering for a second whether it was her place to be telling Mary this. But they had all been waiting for six years for Mary and Matthew to sort things out for themselves to no avail; perhaps it was time for some more positive meddling by their relations.

'What is it?' Mary asked.

'Last week, he received news that an old friend of his from university had been killed in France so Matthew wrote to his family to offer his condolences. This morning, he received a reply.'

'Yes?'

'Henry's father is a senior partner in a law firm in Exeter. The other partners were all young men, like his son, and they have all lost their lives in the war. He has offered Matthew to join him as a full partner in the business.'

'What an excellent opportunity. But… Exeter? That's a dreadfully long way. Is he going to accept?'

'He hasn't decided.' Isobel knew why he was reluctant to make up his mind, even if Matthew himself did not seem to understand his reasons. He loved life at Downton, but it was Mary, not the Estate, that he could not bring himself to give up on.

'Well, it is a very difficult decision to make. I know he feels he doesn't really have a place here anymore, but I think he is very attached to Downton after all these years,' Mary sympathised. 'It must be hard to contemplate leaving.'

Isobel was not a tactless woman, but she had never been able to refrain from speaking her mind. 'I do not think it is Downton he cannot leave Mary,' she said eventually. Her wise eyes met Mary's knowingly. 'You are in love with my son, are you not?'

'Yes.' Her answer was immediate. Why fight it anymore? 'Very much so.'

'Good. And you have no qualms about his condition, his changed prospects?'

'None, Cousin Isobel. I have made foolish, selfish mistakes in the past and I have paid for them, but I would hope that I have learnt from them also. I would love Matthew if he were a king or a pauper, if he could climb a mountain or if he could never get out of his bed again.'

'Oh Mary.' Isobel reached across the table and grasped her hand. 'I should be very happy to see you and Matthew resolve things after all these years.'

Mary's eyes pricked with rare tears. 'Do you think then, that if I were to talk to him, I might have the slightest chance?'

'I do, my dear. He will be stubborn, mind you. He will try to dissuade you from shackling yourself to a cripple.'

Mary stood up and made to leave. 'I shall have to persuade him otherwise then, shan't I?'

* * *

><p>She was on her way back up to the house when Edith appeared from nowhere.<p>

'You just can't help yourself, can you?'

'Edith…'

'I saw you the other evening, out walking with Patrick,' she said accusingly. 'And you don't leave Matthew's side the rest of the time. You can't have them both, you know. You can't have either of them actually, as you're engaged to Carlisle. Why do you have to do it? Why do you have to make them all in love with you? You only end up breaking their hearts, you always do. They don't deserve it, they –'

'_Edith._' This time Mary grabbed her sister's arm and gave it a little shake to cut into her furious tirade. 'Listen to me.'

And there was something in her tone that made Edith do just that.

'I know you are still in love with Patrick – '

'It didn't stop you the last time,' Edith retorted, but she seemed less angry now, and the bitterness had softened a little to something more like petulance. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

'I know, and I'm sorry. _I'm sorry,_' she repeated, meeting her sister's gaze. 'I'm sorry for all of it, but I think I may have found a way to atone for all the hurt I've caused.'

'How?' Edith asked, and Mary knew that the doubt in her voice was because she couldn't imagine how anything might make up for her lengthy list of sins.

'I can't tell you yet.'

'Are you going to break off your engagement?'

'If everything works out, then yes.' Then she realised something. 'I will anyway, I think.'

'Carlisle knows about Pamuk, doesn't he?'

Mary nodded.

'Will he publish it?'

'If I break my word I expect so.'

'Mary, I'm sorry for writing that letter. I wish now I hadn't. I know it was spiteful, it's just… You were so superior all the time. I couldn't stand the way you never passed up the opportunity to make me feel small and worthless. I thought it I could make you feel like that just once I could bear it more. But it didn't help at all, and I never meant for it all to get this far.'

Mary had never been able to work out when the battle lines had been drawn between her and Edith, but the years of warfare made the prospect of peace overshadow the old rivalry completely.

'Thank you for saying that. I think we can safely say that we have both treated each other in ways we regret.' She offered Edith her hand to shake. 'Truce?'

'If only it was this easy in France.'

'Maybe it will be in the end. Maybe they will realise they have been fighting for all this time over nothing.' They shook hands, then hugged each other tightly. It felt good.

Tentatively, Mary threaded Edith's arm through her own and began to walk towards the house.

'I have more planned for you than a mere apology, just so you know,' Mary grinned sideways at her.

'Really Mary, what are you cooking up?'

'You'll see.'

They walked for a while in silence before Edith asked, 'what will you do, if it all appears in the newspapers?'

'If things work out, then it won't matter,' Mary answered.

Edith could believe how blasé she was at the prospect of her scandal finally being loosed on the world. 'How can you say that?'

'What I mean to say is, it won't matter to the people I care about. I don't mind what is said about me. In truth, I am tired of having it hang over me. The secret has owned me all this time. Innocent people have suffered to protect me, and I want it to stop. I'm going to make sure it can't hurt any of us anymore.'

As they walked up the gravelled drive, they spotted a figure sitting awkwardly on the front steps, a wicker picnic basket lying beside them. As they approached, he stood up.

'Cousin Patrick, what are you doing?'

Mary was fairly sure she already knew.

'Edith, I was wondering if you might like to have lunch with me. Mrs Patmore has packed some sandwiches for us. It's nice weather and I thought…'

His words faded out as Edith blushed and smiled prettily. 'I would love to Cousin Patrick, thank you.'

She looked questioningly at her sister, who shrugged her shoulders. 'This isn't anything to do with me,' she denied.

For the first time in as long as either of them could remember, Edith kissed Mary's cheek affectionately and whispered a soft 'thank you' into her hair.

Mary watched them walk away, and wondered if things really could be that straightforward.

* * *

><p>She dithered for three days while she tried to rake together the courage to talk to Matthew, acutely aware of Isobel's curiosity, albeit restrained with an iron will, the entire time. She was sure of herself, as sure as she had ever been, but there still felt like a vast chasm between where she was and where she wanted to be. She knew it would have to be crossed, and how to do it, but it was still so hard.<p>

Finally, her stomach in tight knots, she approached Matthew one morning, after breakfast. It was their usual routine to settle in the library with a pot of tea and read, sometimes to each other, sometimes on their own in quiet companionship. It was a risk, but Mary took a giant, dusty tome of Greek mythology from the shelf.

'I thought I would read to you today, if you like.'

He looked at her, then his eyes flickered down to the book before meeting his gaze again. 'All right,' he said, already on his guard.

'It is another lovely day out there; perhaps we could go out into the grounds,' she suggested, and he did not disagree.

She wheeled him carefully outside and over the lawns to the cedar tree because, truly, where else? The morning sun cast the bench into golden dapples of light and there was the first hint of autumn in the air. She watched him as he looked around, taking in his surroundings.

'What is it Mary?' He sounded reluctantly curious. He had been a little cold and detached with her since Patrick's return, but she had persisted and since Patrick and Edith had been spending so much time together, he had thawed again and was more as he had been on the morning of William's funeral.

'We are reading,' she replied, and began to thumb through the book until she found the story she was looking for.

'We usually read in the library. And you are usually careful to pick rather uncontroversial reading material.'

'Do you mind?'

'No,' he admitted. 'I was rather sick of Austen.'

'I have only inflicted one Jane Austen novel on you,' Mary replied, temporarily sidetracked into indignance. 'And it was Persuasion – I had hoped you could see I was trying to make a point with that.'

'I am no Fredrick Wentworth.'

'Oh I don't know, you handsome war heroes are all rather dashing in my opinion. I am no gentle and forebearing Anne Elliot either, but I think the themes are there.'

'With Cousin Violet as Lady Russell no doubt,' he said dryly.

'Aunt Rosamund actually,' she admitted, and they moved a step closer to their history.

'Captain Wentworth's prospects improved over the intervening years, as I recall. You could not say the same for mine, I think.'

'Perhaps. But Anne spent all those years deeply regretting that she had allowed herself to be persuaded that such things had any bearing at all on her love. She would have taken him on any terms, I think, as soon as she was mature enough to understand her own mind.'

'A silly novel,' he said dismissively. 'It doesn't work like that outside the pages of a book.'

'No,' she conceded. 'I believe we make our own stories.' She had found the page now. 'Shall I read?'

He nodded.

She began to read, and Matthew let her lyrical voice wash over him. She was reading the tale of Andromeda and Perseus, and he knew that she was leading to something, but just for the moment, he enjoyed the feeling of being close to her. He remembered that dinner, so many years ago, and wondered if he would have believed then what had happened and how they were now. If someone had told him that he was deeply, irrevocably in love with the dark eyed, glittering beauty that dismissed him so easily, he might have believed them. If someone had told him that she loved him back, he would have laughed in their face. Now, he knew that nothing in life could ever be that certain.

He watched her as she finished the story and closed the book with a soft thud, laying it beside her on the bench.

'I was so rude that night,' she said. 'I'm sorry. If only I had known.'

'Well, I might not have been the sea monster in question then, but I think we can safely say that I am now.'

To his surprise, Mary laughed. 'Oh Matthew, how can you not see? Heroes are not heroes for their fair faces and blue eyes, beautiful though yours are.'

'No, it is generally their esteemed titles and grand estates.' Was he bitter, she wondered, or just weary and cynical? She couldn't be sure from his tone.

She knelt on the grass before him and kissed his fingers with her soft lips. 'Even less so, Matthew. Heroes are heroes for the great and nobles things they do. They are heroes for their courage, and the way they use that courage. They are heroes for the way they face the world, and the way they treat the people in their world. They may be born heroes, or they may become heroes through the way in which they live their lives, but they are rare, and wonderful, and you are one of them.'

'Mary…'

'I mean it. You are a hero, you are _my _hero. I love you Matthew, I always did. And I always, _always _will.'

'I am not –'

'You are you, Matthew Crawley.' She would brook no argument whatsoever. 'And that makes you the greatest, most special, and _best _man I have ever had the honour to know.'

In the face of such utter and unswerving conviction, Matthew did not know how to persuade her otherwise. She loved him. She said that she loved him. He tried to quell the way his heart soared at that thought, but he could not find the strength to want to.

'I am very poorly equipped to rescue you from any sea monsters these days,' he said, hedging his bets.

He was surprised when the happiness on her face disappeared, to be replaced by a thousand less positive emotions; regret, sadness, guilt, even a touch of fear. In return, he felt a clutch of fear in his own stomach. What was she about to tell him?

'Actually, that is not at all true. I have something to tell you, something that I ought to have told you a very long time ago. But before I begin, let me say this. I am not telling you this because I want you to be my rescuer. I am telling you because it is something that you deserve to know and that by all measures of decency and honesty I should have confessed to you long before now.'

'Mary, what on earth is it?'

'When I would not give you an answer to your proposal, it is true that I had allowed myself to be persuaded by Aunt Rosamund that I could "do better", whatever that is meant to mean. But I allowed myself to be persuaded to think that way for a reason that had nothing at all to do with money or position.'

She still held his hands, but let her eyes fall away from his own. Shame burned inside her to the point she feared it would make her sick.

Gently, he stroked her cheek. 'Tell me Mary, whatever it is, tell me. It is clearly eating away at you, and…' He took a deep breath. 'And it is very difficult for a man who loves you as much as I do to see you like this.'

She looked up at him again, and there were tears on her cheeks. 'Do not say that you love me. You may change your mind when you hear what I have to say and I couldn't live with that.'

He could see that protesting would not help, so he caressed her pale cheek again and grasped her hand tightly. 'Say what you must then, if you believe it to be important.'

He had no idea what it might be, but he could have told her that whatever horror it was, it couldn't be _less _important right now.

'When the Turkish gentleman, Kemal Pamuk, came to visit, I am sure you can remember that I was… somewhat taken with him.' She did not pause for an answer. It was too late to stop now, it was all going to come tumbling out. 'He kissed me, and I pushed him away and I thought I made it clear that I was not – interested in that sort of behaviour. But that night, he came to my room – I still do not know how, only that someone must have helped him – and I asked him to leave, but he would not, and I could not call out then everyone would know there had been a man in my bedchamber.' She laughed then, and exclaimed, 'The irony!'

She continued shakily. 'We were lovers, and then he died in my bed.' She saw the initial outrage in his face, and correctly interpreted it. 'He did not force himself on me. I am ashamed to say that I took horribly little persuasion.'

A little of the anger seemed to fade from his expression at that, but his eyes were guarded and she could not read them.

'I did not know what to do, except that I must get him back to his own bedroom. I woke Anna to help me, but two of us were not enough, so we had to wake Mama as well. The three of us, we carried him all the way to the bachelors' corridor and put him back into his own bed.' Every drop of colour had left her face now at the memory.

'I could not let you, good and honourable and honest man that you are, marry soiled and damaged goods such as I. I knew I would have to tell you the truth before I accepted you, but I just could not bring myself to. The love that was in your eyes when you looked at me sent my heart soaring higher than I could have ever dreamed. The thought of that being replaced by the hate and disgust that the truth would surely bring was just too awful. I know it was cowardly of me. And then the way you looked at me when we fought at the garden party… My heart broke when I saw that in your eyes. It was all I had ever feared, and it felt even worse than I imagined it would.'

Slowly, he let her words sink in. He remembered, faintly, the man in question. Smooth and charming, Matthew had wanted to punch his handsome and smug face even then. Now, he thought of all the innocent men he had killed and thought it was just as well, paralysed or not, that Pamuk was dead. He would have found a way to make him pay.

And Mary. How he had doubted her. He had believed, truly, that it had been about the money, the position. He had misjudged her character very badly, when he ought to have known better, and he felt all the guilt and pain of that. How different things might now be if he had trusted her kisses and her smile rather than her words of hesitation. She always had told him not to listen to what she said. He knew there was no useful purpose in thinking of what might have been, but for a moment he allowed himself to contemplate it in all its glory. They could have been married for four years now, lived as husband and wife, even with this wretched war. He could have woken up next to her in the morning and her beautiful, precious face would be the first thing he would see. And there would have been an heir. In four years of marriage to Mary, he would have made damn sure there would have been a nursery full of heirs.

Then the vision turned to ash in his mind and he let it go. That wasn't to be now. Maybe it was never meant to be that way, that straightforward. But it could be now in a different way, if only he would let it.

He suddenly realised he had been sitting in silence for several minutes, and Mary must be ready to faint with anxiety.

'Mary.' She wouldn't meet his eyes now. 'Mary, my darling.' And very slowly, he raised her chin up to force her to look at him. Even then, she looked down rather than directly at him.

'Mary, my love.'

Finally, she met his gaze.

'I do not believe it up to me to dole out forgiveness and absolution for past sins, but if that is what you require from me, then I forgive you with all my heart. Something like that could not matter less now, not after what we have both been through. I'm not even sure it would have mattered all that much then to me. I was so desperately in love with you, and it was a long time ago.' She still looked uncertain. 'Mary, I mean it.'

'You cannot.'

'And I believe you cannot want to be with me, crippled and ruined and less than half a man. What do you say to that?'

'That you are being stupid and wrong. That does not matter to me at all.'

'Then I reserve the right to take the same line. I love you, as you are, your few flaws and your many perfections.'

Slowly, as the meaning of his words began to sink into Mary's consciousness, she felt a smile spread across her face. It was mirrored on his own.

'Do you mean that?' she asked, and her voice was full of hope.

'Absolutely.'

'Then…' She shifted her pose at his feet until she was kneeling before him on one knee. 'Matthew Crawley, will you marry me?'

'What about…?'

'Details,' she said dismissively. '_Will you marry me?_'

His answer was unequivocal. 'Yes.'

She raised herself up and kissed him. She had intended it to be soft and slow, but it wasn't like that at all. At the first taste of him, she threaded her hands through his hair, and pulled herself closer to him. It left them both breathless, stunned, but strangely not sad that kisses like that would be all there would ever be. For Mary, it was more than she ever dreamed.

Settling herself in his lap, grinning happily at his matching expression, she carefully smoothed down his hair where she had left it in disarray.

'I love you very much, you know,' he said, his blue eyes shining.

'I love you too.' She kissed him again, softly. Then her voice became businesslike. 'Now, about those details…'

* * *

><p>She waited until lunch was over and she thought that all the clearing up would be finished before she retreated to her bedroom and rang the bell.<p>

A few minutes later, the door creaked open. 'Are you all right Lady Mary?'

'Yes, thank you Anna. Do come in.' Mary indicated to the other chair she had drawn up to the window where she was sitting herself. 'Would you like to sit down?'

They were friends, in so far as a lady would ever be friends with a maid, but Mary could tell she had made Anna uncomfortable by her request. She tried to sound less imperious.

'I'm sorry Anna. I… I rang for you because I wanted to talk to you, not because I needed anything. I hope I'm not taking you away from anything important for a few minutes.'

'Of course not.' Tentatively, Anna advanced into the room and eyed the chair uncertainly. She was not by nature indecisive however, and after a split second she sat down, albeit a little awkwardly. 'What is it Lady Mary?'

'I have asked Matthew to marry me, and he has said yes.'

The maid's hands shot out to grasp her mistress's, and both their eyes filled with long suppressed tears of happiness. 'Oh Mary, congratulations.' For once, just once, the Lady was dropped. 'I am so happy for you.' Their eyes shone, and they both smiled and laughed at each other's tears.

'Thank you Anna. I am… full of joy. I can't begin to tell you.'

'But what about…?'

'Sir Richard? Kemal Pamuk? Cousin Patrick?' A list of mistakes. 'Patrick and I have settled some old matters, and I rather think there is another Crawley sister who is more than ready to take my place in that respect.'

Anna smiled. 'Lady Edith seemed very happy when she came in from their lunch yesterday afternoon,' she ventured.

'I think there will be an announcement there before long.'

'I hope so.'

'As for the rest, I have told Matthew about Pamuk. I ought to have done it years ago. He was shocked of course, but so much has happened since that then it really does not matter anymore. Or at least, he does not seem to think so. He says it wouldn't have to him even then, but I am not sure.'

'And Sir Richard?'

'I may have made myself a dangerous enemy there, I fear. I suspect he will not take my change of heart well, but that is something I must face. He cannot make me marry him. He has Pamuk to use against me of course, but now I have told Matthew, I am going to tell my father, and take my chances.'

A shadow passed over Anna's face and Mary knew what she was thinking.

'That is the real reason I wanted to talk to you. I am very aware of all the hurt and pain you and Bates have suffered on account of me, and I think it is time I did something to atone for that.'

'Really, there's no need, I –'

'No Anna, truly, there is every need. Matthew and I intend to marry very soon. He has been offered a partnership in a law firm in Devon and we will be moving there after the wedding. I thought – that is, we thought – that perhaps you and Bates would come with us.'

Anna looked at her uncomprehendingly.

'I would like you to be my lady's maid,' Mary went on to explain, 'and Bates could be our butler and Matthew's valet. We intend to purchase a small house, and live very informally. Just you two, and Mrs Bird. Between Mrs Bird and Cousin Isobel we wouldn't need a housekeeper. I couldn't imagine a housekeeper in the land that would dare try to rule over them. Then a housemaid or two, and a kitchen maid, perhaps a footman if Bates feels we need one, no-one else. Cousin Isobel and I will learn to drive so we won't need a chauffeur. You could too if you want.'

She paused, and looked at Anna awkwardly. 'You see, we thought that if you came, you and Bates would be able to get married. You could have a suite of rooms in the house, and if in time you wanted to start a family, well that would be all right.'

Anna's blank expression was slowly rearranging into a look of wonderment as what Mary was suggesting began to dawn on her.

'I know it won't be quite as you might have hoped, but at least you –'

'Lady Mary, it's _perfect. _Do you mean it?'

'You know me, I am not good at saying thank you or sorry or any of those sorts of things. But I hope this will go some way to making up for the sacrifices you and Bates have made for me.'

Anna was lost for words, so she reached out again and took Mary's hands, pressing them tightly between her own. There were tears in her eyes again and this time, they spilled out over her lashes and ran in fat droplets down her cheeks. Disentangling one of her hands, Mary used her own lace edged hankerchief to dab at Anna's face.

'So many tears,' she exclaimed softly.

Anna sniffed and laughed weakly. 'I'm just… too happy. I'm really going to get to be Mr Bates' wife. I can't believe after all this time we can finally get married.'

'We can be too happy together Anna. So you will ask him?'

'Right away.' Mary smiled as the maid leapt up. 'He'll want to make sure Lord Grantham doesn't mind before he makes a decision though.'

'Matthew and I intend to talk to Papa tonight. I would appreciate it if he could wait until after that.'

Anna nodded, and rubbed the last of the tears away with the palms of her hands then straightened her apron. 'There, presentable again I think.' Her professional, courteous demeanour had returned and once again they were mistress and maid. 'Thank you my Lady, I don't know what else I can say. Thank you very much.'

'You deserve it Anna, it was nothing,' Mary said in that casual, offhand way of hers that somehow trivialised everything she had done. But Anna knew better than that.

'It's _everything. _And you deserve it too.'

* * *

><p>Telling her father would be the hardest part of all, of that Mary was sure. She had wondered about doing it alone but now she and Matthew had finally settled things, she did not feel like she ever wanted to leave his side again. Besides, just having him there to hold her hand would make her task a thousand times easier.<p>

They decided to do it that afternoon, before the dressing gong. Then they could make the necessary announcements at dinner. Matthew set it up by asking for a meeting on the pretext of wanting to discuss the future.

When the door to the drawing room opened, and Robert saw them both enter he smiled at Mary but did not take any real notice until she had wheeled Matthew into place and instead of leaving, took a seat beside him.

'Both of you?' he asked. 'To what do I owe this great pleasure?'

'I need to talk to you Papa,' Mary said.

'My darling, you may talk to me at any time. You do not need Cousin Matthew to arrange a meeting for you.'

'I'm sorry, I did not put that very well. I meant that we need to talk to you.'

Robert looked from one to the other, but asked nothing, though he felt a little spark of hope within his chest. They both looked content, and serenely sure of themselves. 'Go on.'

'I know you do not approve of my engagement to Sir Richard,' she began.

'He would not be my first choice for a son-in-law, it is true. And before you accuse me of anything, I do not feel that way for any reason relating to his birth or class. The poorest street sweeper may be a gentleman in all the ways that matter. But he is your choice of husband and if he will make you happy, then I shall be happy for you.'

'Well, that's rather the thing you see. Choice. Agreeing to marry Sir Richard has been very little to do with choice and certainly nothing at all to do with love.'

'_Mary_.' Her father was shocked.

'You noticed he announced our engagement without even telling me, let alone asking my permission. I know you must have thought it odd. It has been very good of you to not object.'

'If you are being coerced into this marriage in any way…'

To his surprise, Mary laughed out loud. She was not sure why, for the situation was not funny at all, but she supposed it was the horrified way in which he spoke about what had become an every day mundanity to her.

'I'm sorry,' she apologised for her outburst. 'I first courted him because he was rich and powerful, and he could offer me a position. I do not mean that in a mercenary way. I mean that with Matthew marrying Lavinia I could not have borne to be alone. At least as Lady Carlisle I would be able to walk into a room with my head held high and something to show for my wreck of a life. And I did like him. When he proposed to me, he said that we would make a good team, and in a way, he was right.'

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Matthew flinch as she explained her reasons for becoming engaged to Sir Richard. For so many years in his stubbornness and pride, in his mind he had laid the blame of everything that happened at Mary's door. Only now, today, he was really beginning to see a different version of things, of her. How foolish he had been. She guessed at his guilt, and reached over to touch his hand briefly, reassuringly, before continuing.

'But I have a secret, something that you do not know. I have been so desperate for such a very long time to keep it hidden that it has consumed me and every decision I have made. It has led to some very poor judgement on my part.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Not accepting Matthew would be my worst decision, I think. But accepting Sir Richard definitely comes in a close second.' She deliberately misunderstood her father's question. She was working up to it, but she still didn't quite have the courage to spell it out.

'I do not understand. Are you telling me you intend to break your promise to Carlisle?'

'Yes, I am. But he knows my secret, and I don't expect him to be gentlemanly enough to keep it quiet once I have broken off the engagement.'

'But Mary, what is it?'

She sighed and turned her head away. Matthew reached over and squeezed her hand in encouragement. Taking a deep breath, she met her father's eyes again and found herself smiling wistfully at the love and concern there. It might be the last time he ever looked at her that way.

'I took a lover,' she said in a careful, emotionless voice. 'Kemal Pamuk, the Turkish gentleman who stayed here. He died in my bed.'

Shock and horror filtered through Robert's features as the implications of her words began to sink in. His mouth eventually began moving as if he was trying to form words, but no sound came out.

'It was his heart, or that was how it seemed, anyway. I had help – I won't say who – to carry him back to his room. I hoped that would be the end of it, but it got out in London and it has been an open secret for some time.' She was careful not to implicate anyone else.

Her father still looked blank, horrified, but she pressed on. It was like when she had told Matthew, once she started there was no way on earth she could stop. 'When Bates was blackmailed by that dreadful wife of his I knew that I would have to do something eventually. It wasn't fair that he should have to keep my secret for me like that. So I asked Sir Richard to make it end and he bought her story in a binding contract, preventing her from publishing it elsewhere. He promised not to run it in return for my acceptance of his proposal.'

'That's disgusting,' Robert choked out, and Mary had no idea what part he meant.

'A gentleman – any decent human being – would _never_ impose such a condition.'

And there he was, the father who had always loved her. She wondered now how she could have ever doubted him, just as she should never have doubted Matthew. These two wonderful men, with their Crawley blue eyes, whose opinions mattered to her more than anything else in the world.

'Don't get me wrong Mary, I'm shocked, appalled.' She hung her head. 'But you are my daughter, my beloved daughter, and you always will be. You ought to have told me.'

'I couldn't bear to. I couldn't bear the way you would look at me.'

'I would have been angry – I _am _angry – with you for doing something so foolish. But I would be a poor father and a poor man if I couldn't forgive my own children their mistakes.' Mary stored that comment, wondering if Sybil had a right to hear it.

'I'm sorry. I know I have brought shame on the family. I have damaged my sisters' chances, your legacy, the great name of Downton. All because I wasn't strong enough to say no.'

'I know you are sorry. I can only begin to imagine how this has eaten away at you over the years.' He paused, and looked at Matthew's serene face. 'I am getting the impression I am one of the last to hear about this.'

'Yes. You and Matthew. And Cousin Isobel. I told Matthew this morning, and now you. Matthew and I will tell Isobel this evening.'

'Your mother knows? And your grandmother?'

Mary nodded. 'They have known for a long time.'

'Well, I think the best way forward is to leave the incident in the past, where it lies and where it deserves to stay.'

At her father's words, Mary leapt up and threw herself into his arms. The relief at it finally being _out _was enormous and she felt the tears, kept so carefully in check, begin to well up. 'Oh Papa, I have lived in fear of the scandal for such a very long time. I have felt like it owns me.'

He gently patted her hair and drew a hankerchief from his pocket to dab at her watery eyes. 'Well Mary, if you think Carlisle is going to publish the story after all, then it isn't over yet. You will be reviled by society, especially if you are –'

'If she is not yet married,' Matthew cut in.

'I think I know where this might be heading,' Robert said, and the widest, widest smile began to spread across his face. His beloved daughter, about whom he had always felt a residual guilt for not being able to leave her Downton, and the man who he had long since come to love as a son. They had loved each other, been denied happiness for so very many years now, and he wanted nothing more than to see them together.

'Don't get too carried away Papa.' Mary disentangled herself from her father's arms and returned to her seat next to Matthew's wheelchair. 'You might not like all our plans.'

'I find that very hard to believe my darling.'

'Now Cousin Patrick has returned, Matthew is somewhat surplus to requirements,' Mary began.

'Dear God, I should hope you don't feel that way Matthew,' Robert said quickly. 'There will always be a home for you at Downton, Cousin Isobel as well. I can gift you Crawley House for life, and have every intention of doing so if you want it. I…' He stopped, then forced the words out. 'You have become the son I never had Matthew. I think you both know that. I love you in a way I do not love Patrick. I am happy, very very happy to have him alive and back with us again, but if I could choose you over him, I would do so without a heartbeat of hesitation.'

'Thank you. I know you mean it, and I am touched and honoured to hear you say it,' Matthew said, his heart warmed by the strength of conviction behind the words. 'But the fact remains Patrick is back, and I am no longer you heir. Nothing that any of us feel will change that.' He looked back to Mary. They had already agreed she would do the talking.

'It is not just Matthew who is no longer needed here. Edith still loves Patrick, that much is clear, and she would make a good Countess of Grantham.' She would have thought the words would have pricked at and stuck in her throat, left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, but they didn't at all. These last few weeks had distilled every thought and feeling and emotion she had ever had to one, single thing. Being with Matthew was the _only _thing that mattered to her.

She saw her father's expression and smiled without a touch of irony. 'I mean it. She is well liked below stairs, and she takes an interest in people. She knows more about the estate than I ever will. Truly, I think Edith was the one who was meant to marry Patrick all along.'

Her point was inarguable. She knew now she had been destined, since long before she was born, to love Matthew. Being with him felt like being with someone she had known not only in this life, but in many lives stretching back in time through dimly lit ages of history. What was Downton in comparison to that?

'So you see, we are two spare parts together. And so that is exactly what we are going to be. With your permission of course, we would like to get married as soon as possible. Matthew has been offered a partnership in a law firm in Exeter,' she ignored the surprised raise of his eyebrows at the naming of a place at the other end of the country, 'and he and Isobel will sell the Manchester house. Of course, with my dowry we should be able to buy somewhere quite nice.'

'Exeter? Does it have to be so far away?'

'We've decided on that. I'm going to be notorious when the scandal gets out, whether I am married or not. I would rather be at least somewhere where people do not know me from before. It will help Edith and Sybil if I am away as well. And Matthew…'

'I would also feel more comfortable somewhere new. I would be a war veteran, yes, but so are many men. At least there I can gain respect for having served my country, and for being a good solicitor. Here I will always be the unneeded, crippled heir, having lost Downton, my mobility and my dignity in the space of a few short weeks. If I am not to inherit, then I _must _be my own man. I cannot and will not ever be in the position to have to go cap in hand to Patrick for anything, _especially _if I am married to Mary. You must understand that.'

Robert nodded. 'Yes, I do.'

'Good.' Mary looked satisfied to have gained his approval so far, but the feeling was only fleeting. He would be even less keen on the next element of the plan.

'That isn't all,' she warned.

'I am to lose you both. What else could possibly matter to me?'

'I – we – have offered Anna and Bates the chance to come with us. I would like to keep Anna as my maid, and we rather thought that if Bates were to come as a butler come valet they could get married. They could have their own little suite of rooms in the house, and we would like to have children around. It wouldn't be quite the same for them as if it were their own house of course, but he used all his money to pay off his wife, so…'

She was gabbling now, nervous at her father's reaction. Somehow this was the most difficult thing of all to say. All the rest had been cold, hard fact, however unpleasant some of it was, but she knew now she was being extraordinarily presumptuous. To have offered new posts to two of her father's most loyal staff…

But he was smiling softly at them. 'What a wonderful, thoughtful thing to do. You know that by offering them this, you are giving them a chance for a life that they might not be able to achieve for years otherwise.'

Mary shrugged. 'I am to be happy, at last. Anna deserves the same ten thousand times more than I do.'

'Have they accepted?'

'Bates wishes to discuss it with you first. But I think they would like to.'

'Well, is that it, or are you stealing any more of my servants?'

'Cousin Isobel wants to take Mrs Bird, of course. We hope that will be all right. Her kitchen maid may come if she wishes, but she is apparently a local girl and might not want to move so far away from her family. We thought perhaps you could find a place for Moseley here.'

'I should have thought we can manage that.'

'So that's settled then. Everything is settled.' Mary visibly relaxed, and turned to face Matthew. 'Matthew, my darling. We have done it. We're really going to be married.'

He leaned over and kissed her softly on the cheek, knowing Robert would not mind. '_You_ have done it my love. You have thought and planned and organised every tiny detail to make sure we all get our happy endings.'

'It was nothing. I just…'

'It was everything. You are everything, and I love you.'

* * *

><p>She left it until the last possible minute to tell Sir Richard of her change of plans. She did not telephone him until the morning of the wedding, knowing that he would tell the whole world of her scandal the second he knew of her duplicity. She wanted to be safely on a train to Exeter, with Matthew by her side, when that happened.<p>

He was predictably furious. 'Do you really think you will get away with this? Nobody makes a fool out of me,' he raged at her. 'You stupid girl. I would have given you everything, if you had the sense to do as you were told. I'll ruin you Mary Crawley, you mark my words.'

'And how do you think you are going to ruin me Sir Richard?' she asked coolly. The diamond on her finger, purchased four years ago and finally in its rightful place, gave her the confidence to remain calm.

'You cannot have forgotten Lady Mary. I know your dirty little secret, and I am going to make sure the whole world does too. Your friends, your family, will look at you with disgust when they see you for the cold hearted slut you are. They will read of your shame in my newspapers over their breakfasts.'

'Do it. Publish it,' she hissed. 'You think the public are going to care about who a country solicitor's wife bedded five years ago when there's the prospect of peace on the horizon? I know you Sir Richard. You will print what sells papers, and my old scandal will be of interest to no-one soon.'

'I'm going to print it anyway. I don't care if it sells papers, as long as I bring you down. You will be ruined. You might have got your happy ending with your wheelchair bound cripple, but what about the rest of your family? Do you think your father will look at you with love and respect any more? Do you think your mother and grandmother will bear the shame of it? Do you think anyone will want to marry Edith and Sybil with a notorious woman like you for a sister?'

She laughed at him then, knowing it would make him more irate. Thank God she had not married him. 'They know, they all know. You can't hold it over me any more. I have told my father, and he loves me as any good father would. Mama and Granny have always known my secret. Do you really think you know _anything _that Granny does not? I thought you had more sense than that, at least.'

'Still, your sisters –'

He was clutching at straws, reusing arguments, and she knew she had him on the ropes. Good God, it felt good to break free from his bullying. But knowing that as soon as this conversation was over she would be getting in the car and Branson would drive her to the church, where Matthew was waiting for her felt even better.

'My sisters will not be affected in the least. Edith is already settled. Her engagement to Cousin Patrick will be in the Times in the morning, right alongside the news of my wedding. And whoever Sybil marries, he will not be a man who cares about that sort of thing. Or at least, I trust he will have sufficient sense to judge her on her own merits rather than my failings.'

'I'll have journalists camped out on the very doorstep of Downton Abbey.'

'Just try it. I won't be there anyway. Do you really think they will get past Carson? Or better still, we will get Granny to answer the door. Can you imagine that?'

'So you think you have me beaten? If I can't touch you, I will go after that pretty little maid of yours. Do you really want to see Anna suffer all over again on your behalf?'

'You're too late there, too slow. Bates' divorce came through, and he and Anna are already married. You can't touch them either. Do you think I am some meek and mild girl like Lavinia, who can be blackmailed into doing your bidding? Us Crawleys make for rather tougher opposition. You cannot bully your way to victory this time.'

'I – ' he sputtered.

'A gentleman would know when he was beaten.'

Finally, there was a click at the other end of the line, and the call was over. Suddenly shaking, she let out a sigh of relief and Carson held out his hand to steady her.

'There, all over my Lady,' he said in that deep, reassuring voice. Oh, how she would miss Carson. But she could not steal him as well. Besides, he _was _Downton; he would not be Carson if he was anywhere else.

'Not "my Lady" much longer Carson. I'll soon be plain old Mrs Crawley. And how happy I shall be.'

'You will always be my Lady to me. Always.'

There was a long pause, and Mary suddenly felt the grief at her departure rise up within her. 'Oh Carson, I shall miss you terribly. You have been a second father to me, nothing less. I want you to know that.'

'And I love you as if you were my own daughter, Lady Mary.' His old brown eyes glistened with tears. 'I shall look forward to your every visit.'

'There will be lots of them, I promise. I cannot live without you in my life for long Carson.'

Just then, Branson poked his head through the front doors. Apart from her and Carson, the house was empty. Everyone else was already in the church, waiting for her. Afterwards, Branson would take them all – her and Matthew, Isobel and Anna and Bates to the station to catch the train to Exeter. Mrs Bird was already installed at the newly purchased Hele Park and had been preparing for their arrival.

'Are you ready, my Lady?'

She nodded. 'Yes Branson, I am. I am ready.'

And she was. After six and a half long years, along a path so tangled and twisted that for most of the time, she could barely see where to put her feet, she was finally ready to be Matthew's wife.

And when she reached him at the altar, and looked into his beautiful, Crawley blue eyes she knew that nothing in the world would ever make her happier than this. Than him. She was Mrs Matthew Crawley, and it was _everything._


End file.
